


Dancing Lessons

by sadlikeknives



Category: The Royal We - Heather Cocks & Jessica Morgan
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/pseuds/sadlikeknives
Summary: Among the million other things Bex has to learn to be a proper princess, there's the waltz.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lulabo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulabo/gifts).



"And one-two-three, one-two-three, one—no! Not like that!"

Bex Porter, who had just tripped over her fiance's feet for at least the dozenth time that day, said, "Sorry, sorry!" as their latest attempt at the waltz ground to a halt and the music stopped.

"You don't have to apologize," Nick told her, which did nothing to change the fact that she kind of felt like she did, or that their—really, her—dancing instructor, a surprisingly intimidating man named Rupert, was glaring at her like he expected it. "You're learning."

Sure, she was learning to waltz, just like she was learning French, and how to get out of a car correctly, and the order of precedence, and table settings, and and and...it was just _a lot_.

Bex wondered what it meant about her that she knew, because his father had told her so, that Nick was only marrying her to hold on to his military career, which meant so much to him, and she was still willing to give up so much, to work so hard, to have him.

Nick studied her for a moment and then told Rupert, "Give us a minute." And because Nick was Nick—or rather, because he was HRH Prince Nicholas of Wales—Rupert obligingly left the room, which was, again because Nick was who he was, not some dance studio somewhere, but the actual ballroom of Buckingham Palace, an intimidatingly large, ornate space for two people to dance in alone. Nick said, "There won't be dancing at the wedding, you know. We schedule them too early for that. And the reception's cocktail, so...there's really no reason to rush this."

"I don't think I could dance in that dress anyway," Bex said, thinking of the size of the skirt, the length of the train.

"Is that a hint?" Nick, who had been trying to get her to tell him what her dress looked like since he'd returned from his last tour of duty, asked, leaning in closer to her. She swatted him lightly on the arm.

"No! I'm not telling you anything. You have to wait and see like everybody else."

"Yes," Nick countered, "but, like everybody else only moreso, the anticipation is _killing_ me." Bex rolled her eyes fondly at him. "Come here, you," Nick said, pulling her in to something that was more high school formal slow dance form than a standard ballroom waltz hold. "See, this isn't so bad."

"Except we can't do this at formal events."

"Sure we can," Nick countered. "We'll start a trend. Hey, we're already starting one!"

"I think the 'marrying commoners' horse left the barn a while ago," Bex pointed out. It had taken a while for the royal houses of Europe to admit that the inbreeding had become a problem, even with all the hemophilia and whatnot—for a time they'd seemingly thought it was under control and gone on marrying among the aristocracy, but they'd started to get with the 'we need _really_ new blood' program in earnest somewhere around the time when a Norwegian princess had announced she could talk to angels, and also trees. Great Britain had been slower to come around, but then Bex, the first real commoner contender, was not only common but an American to boot.

Nick, echoing her train of thought, said, "Yes, but you're from across the pond," and Bex smiled at him. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "We only have fifteen more minutes of this waltz lesson, and then I have to meet with the florist."

"I could come along," Nick offered. "My schedule's open." She even found the way he said 'schedule,' so very British, charming, still, after all these years. She was so far gone.

"I mean, you _could_ ," Bex allowed, "if you want to."

"I want to spend time with you," Nick said. "Admittedly I do not care in the least about the flowers, but..."

"That's what I thought. It's sweet, but you really don't have to."

"Oh, thank God," Nick said, shoulders slumping in relief, and Bex rolled her eyes fondly at him, even though part of her wished he'd come with her anyway, even if he'd be useless—worse than useless, really; she was sure the florist would defer every decision to him, because he was the prince, even after it became clear he _really_ didn't care. Then he straightened up, adjusting himself and her into that proper ballroom hold he'd abandoned before, and said, "Come on then, shoulders up."

"Ugh," Bex protested. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Nick told her. "If we only have fifteen more minutes today for you to learn the waltz, I am going to make the best of them. The sooner that horrible little man stops glaring at us the better. Now, let's see. Forget about the music, don't think about it, just focus on me. And count, I suppose."

For a few minutes, it was nice, sweeping around the room with Nick in the silence, but then she tripped over his feet again. He was nice about it, but she was afraid his toes were going to be black and blue at this rate, and his instructions had rankled at the core of—well, part of her problem. Nick possibly not wanting to marry her, her twin's behavior, and the rather large secret she shared with Nick's brother Freddie were also definitely part of the problem. But 'just count' was part of the problem, too. It felt lately like all she did was try to keep time in her head, remember all of the things she was supposed to be doing and perform them like an automaton in sequence, one-two-three, one-two-three, leaving her with no time or space to actually _think_ , never mind follow the second part of Nick's advice and focus on him. Forget stopping to smell the roses, she couldn't even spare enough of her brain to listen to the music _without_ stopping. "This is ridiculous," she told him. "I'm never going to get it."

Nick didn't know she was talking about so much more than just the stupid waltz, but maybe, on some level, he did. "You're doing great," he told her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to hers briefly. "You're doing great, Bex. It'll all be over in another month."

"No, Nick," she protested. "It'll all just be _beginning_ in another month."

"Yes," Nick agreed, swaying her gently back and forth again in the middle of that huge, cold, beautiful room. "That's what I'm saying. The wedding will be over, and our marriage will be starting." She'd thought he would understand better, after what had happened to his mother, but she guessed he never would. Maybe it was a male thing, or a born-to-all-this thing. She just wished she knew how to make him understand. "Hey," Nick said, reading something in her face. "I love you."

Bex summoned up a smile for him. "I know."

"Just have to make it through another month."

That sounded like, 'Just have to climb Mount Everest,' to Bex right then, but she kissed him and said, "One more month."

"Now, come on," Nick told her. "Let's try this thing one more time." And just like that, they were off again.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not make the part where a Norwegian princess thinks she can [talk to angels](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Princess_M%C3%A4rtha_Louise_of_Norway#Education_and_career) up.


End file.
